The Object Of His Affections
by Linnet
Summary: Grissom is stalked! Oh, the drama


Author's Note: This is a complete jokefic. I may edit or expand it at a later time, but really I'm just happy to have finished something for hte first time in months. Also, please read the whole thing before you flame! If you read the whole thing and still want to flame, have at it. I LOVE every character on CSI, so I'm not bashing any of them, but rather a certain kind of character assassination fic. Anyway, I deride and disdain lengthy authors notes, so onward!  
  
Gil Grissom would have skipped into work, but he knew that that wasn't the way to attract the respect of the lab rats. Still, it was an effort to keep his feet steady as he walked from his car towards the lab. A smile kept pulling at the edges of his lips when he remembered yesterday, and his fingers itched to be with the object of his affections once more. He pulled open the door, singing out, "Good evening, friends and co-workers." Jacqui, just weaving down the hallway, turned and stared at him. "Are you high?" Just then, Greg came flying down the hallway. "High? Who's high? Certainly not me. I'd never think of imbibing of the wacky tobacky while at work--oh, hello, Grissom." He looked anxiously at his boss, but the man seemed not to notice him. "Not at all." His beatific smile only incurred more stares.  
  
But Grissom's spirit couldn't be broken by those mundane minds. Not today, of all todays, after he had finally found someone who made him so happy. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the flowers on his desk. For a moment, he thought that perhaps his new companion had managed to send him a message telling him how she felt. But he came back to earth with a thud. After all, Bernadette was a tarantula, and while she was certainly intelligent, she hadn't yet managed the art of holding a pen. Frowning a bit, he approached the vegetation with trepidation. An admirer, perhaps? Surely it couldn't be anything dangerous, or it would never have been delivered. Still, it was with a certain amount of care that he lifted the card from the red roses.  
  
'Grissom--  
  
I know the truth about you and her. It doesn't matter. I will love you forever, and if I cannot have you, I will make sure that nobody else can keep you either. My love will never die, and I have something that she never will! Look out.  
  
--Sarah'  
  
Oh, horrors of horrors! This couldn't be happening! Not Sarah! He thought he'd got rid of her a year ago--after he slept with her once, disastrously. Dropping the card to the floor with numbed fingers, he turned around and ran from the lab in a dramatic gesture that oddly went unnoticed by the many staff members. 'Her'? Who did he mean? Surely it wasn't Bernadette, for that relationship was strictly platonic. Yet there were so many options...so many rumours...whose life would that vile harpy now try to ruin? He had to get back to his loved ones, make sure that they were safe!  
  
Twenty minutes later, Greg and Jacqui knocked upon Grissom's half open door, to no response. Glancing at each other, they entered together. Jacqui lifted the card and read it aloud. "Oh, no! Sarah? It can't be! Surely she doesn't think that she has a chance with Grissom--not after what happened."  
  
"Er--what exactly did happen?" Hodges asked, appearing suddenly in the door--drawn by the scent of blood. Metaphorical, as Grissom had at least avoided the thorns on the real roses, if he hadn't avoided those on that faithless hussy, Sarah.   
  
"Well," Greg began, "Nobody's really sure. She was after him for years, but he never showed any interest in her. Then once, they slept together. We're--well, we're divided on this next part. Apparently, at the--ahem--moment of--well.." At Jacqui's impatient not, he continued, "At the critical juncture--he said someone else's name. Nobody seems quite sure who it is. About half think it was Catherine--maybe another quarter figure it was Lady Heather--this dominatrix he might have slept with...yeah, we're not really sure on that either. Anyway! The rest of us think it was anyone from this blonde chick from Miami, to Warrick, to the beautiful new lab tech, Alissandra Periwinkle McAllistair Stokes. Yeah she's also Nick's sister...uh, never mind."  
  
Hodges was staring in mingled fascination and distress. "What--nobody thinks it's me? I mean...that's horrible! So what did she do?"  
  
"What didn't she do? Or should I say--who didn't she do?" Greg coughed, "Well, other than me. Anyway, she went through the other men of the crime lab in order to make him jealous. When that didn't work, she started stalking him--you know, the usual stuff. Dead cats on the doorstep, threatening messages in blood--typical ex-girlfriend things. Then it went too far! She kidnapped his prize spider and held it for ransom. The ransom--a night in her bed!" Flinging an arm out dramatically, Greg looked at his audience. Sure enough, every principal character--uh, member of the crime lab--had gathered around to hear the tale.  
  
"But--he just couldn't do it. He said something about her teeth--or her hair--or maybe her voice--anyway, she killed the tarantula, mailed it to him leg by leg, then disappeared from Vegas. We figured we were well rid of that wench--I mean we figured the bitch was gone. But we were wrong"  
  
"We have to save him," Nicky announced determinedly. His white knight complex had only expanded in the years since he was made second in command to Grissom. Catherine hadn't lost the position due to any ill-advised professional judgments, but rather had to give it up so that she could spend more time with her daughter, who was suffering under a strange disease. It wasn't life-threatening, but it was certainly serious--every time Greg saw the girl, she seemed to have aged another year.  
  
"Of course we've gotta save him," said Warrick, strangely unchanged and ignored, save for an occasional relapse with gambling. "But we don't know where he is--or more to the point--where she is!" On that ominous note of heavy-handed foreshadowing, the phone rang, causing the CSIs to jump and stare at each other in horror. Finally, Greg lifted the receiver gingerly.   
  
"Hello, Grissom's office." He paused for a moment, then blanched and muttered, "It's /her/," which of course let her know that he'd been talking about her.   
  
Sarah, in a motel room only several blocks away, paced angrily with the phone in her hand. "Well, you'd better GET him on the phone, or I swear, I swear by God I will hunt you all down one by one! I will have him!" She slammed the receiver down and the spun about, her face not softening when she saw the three small children sitting on the bed.  
  
"Don't worry...we'll find your daddy soon enough," she muttered. "How dare he leave me with triplets for that tramp Catherine--or was it Heather--never mind! I'll kill them all!" Her maniacal laughter caused her children to huddle closer to each other, their faces stark with terror. Once their mommy started going on about their father, it could be hours before they got any peace. Sometimes she even visited them at nursery school, pulling them out of activities so she could go on about what a cheating bastard their daddy was. Never mind that they had no idea what 'cheating' was, being two years old.  
  
Also despite their young age, they knew their mommy didn't really love them. She only kept them with her because she wanted to use them against their daddy. She fed them, clothed them, and carted them around with her everywhere so that one day, she could have her revenge. This made them very sad. Jeremy, the most precocious of the overly precocious children, wandered towards Sarah, who was now in the bathroom, gazing at herself in the mirror. "If only I could be beautiful," she sobbed. "Then he'd love me."  
  
"I think you're pretty, mommy," he said shyly, which caused her to break down in a flood of tears, for she had always had trouble containing her emotions in her personal life, rather than just in certain tough cases she faced.  
  
Back at the lab, the intrepid CSIs, not having any actual cases to work on, were following up phone records. Through detective work and other such non-dramatic things, they eventually figured out where Sarah must be. Looking at each other, they nodded grimly. "We're going to stage an intervention!"  
  
"She's an alcoholic?" Hodges asked in confusion.  
  
"Of course she's an alcoholic," sighed Greg. "Didn't we tell you about the time she destroyed evidence when she came to work drunk? No? Well, anyway, we have to stage an intervention--get her to stop drinking, being obsessed with Grissom, and--hey, where is Grissom, anyway?" Nobody had received any phone calls or telepathic messages from him, so they decided to let that small detail go for now.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Sarah heard a harsh knock on her hotel room door. Grissom! Her heart leapt into her throat. He'd responded to her attentions at last, and was here to make mad love to her on the hotel room bed, floor, and possibly even in the bathtub! Her neglected children could fend for themselves. She flung the door open, ready to leap into his arms.   
  
"Hello...Sarah." Nick glared down at her in a fashion both superior and wounded. "You have some explaining to do. Mind telling us what that note was all about?" Just then, Catherine spotted the children on the bed, and ran towards them, her motherly instincts overriding her common sense, much as Sarah's emotional state so often did hers. Really, why did they hire women at all, when they would only be taken over by emotion at climactic plot points?   
  
"Oh, sweet babies! What has she done to you?" She immediately began checking the children for signs of abuse. Rather than be alarmed at such attention from a complete stranger, they responded to her immediately and clung to her. "Mommy! Mommy!" they squealed.  
  
Sarah stared at her in hatred. "You've stolen my man--and now you're stealing my babies, too!" She ran at Catherine, only to be stopped by Warrick, who grabbed her around the waist.  
  
"Hey, hey! Who says Catherine's with Grissom? Half the lab thinks it's someone else, after all." Sarah sniffed piteously, shoulders shaking.  
  
"Who is it, then? Is it you?" She turned to Nick accusingly.  
  
"No," a voice said from the doorway. "It's me. Sara." A brunette bearing a striking, less-crazed resemblance to Sarah stood there, hand-in-hand with Grissom. "You know, guys--it's one thing to be drugged, locked in a closet for two years at the end of one's fourth season--uh, year at work. It's one thing to have one's identity stolen by a child-abusing, slutty, witchy stalker shrew. But come on. You'd think my friends and co-workers would at least be able to spell my name properly." 


End file.
